Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
by cornwallace
Summary: Everybody left the right...


**WTF**

* * *

You're all figments of my imagination.  
The world around me is a test I've created for myself.  
It's fittingly challenging and all, but sometimes I can't help but feel that I may have set the bar a bit too high. Just a tad.

"Free refills are only for the large drinks, sir," the little fucker squeaks through his prepubescent voicebox. I oughta strangle him. "If you want more soda, you'll have to buy another one."

Slurping the remains of my cup. Staring at the punk angrily.

I set the cup down on the counter. Hard.  
Staring. Hard.

"Uh... sir?"

"Fill the goddamn drink, already."

"So, you want another one?"

NNNNNNNNGH.  
No, calm down.

Don't smash his face into the drink fountain. Don't knock his cap off his dumb head and smash his dumb, stupid, dumb dogface into the drink fountain by grabbing him by his stupid floppy ears and forcing his STUPID FUCKING FACE into the drink fountain.

I'm angry.

But no. No, I shouldn't do that.

"Sir?"

I shouldn't want him to bleed out of his stupid pugnose and spit out his own teeth. Frantically licking his bloody chops and whining as I smashed in his already smashed in face.  
Pekingese dogs are so fucking ugly.

"That'll be thirty-five cents, sir."

* * *

"What the fuck is that thing?" Nolan asks, blinking. "And why does it smell like piss?"  
I set it down on our couch and take a seat in the chair adjacent to his.

"Funny you should ask that."  
Kick my feet up onto the the glass coffee table and smirk at him.

"Could you, uh. Not put your feet on my coffee table?"  
He wears a hat that resembles that of something you would find in the movie Fargo, only it's plaid. Plaid hat to match his plaid shirt. He likes plaid. He didn't even have to tell me he liked plaid, I could just tell. I can tell these kinds of things. I have a knack for reading people.  
Cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, he looks at me with that confused expression on his face that he loves to make so much in my presence and my presence only. Eyes darting back and forth between the giant bundle of mystery and myself.

"Don't you want to know what that is?" I ask, nodding with a pleased expression on my face.  
Some people call this feeling money. I call it blowjobs.

"What's in the sack, Nack?"

"Interesting story there. You see, I was eating at the happy burger, when the countergirl gave me some shit about a refill. Something about the large, right? So, I say fuck it, right? And I get the large, but I can never finish the large without just about pissin' myself. So, on my way home, I stopped behind a dumpster to take a leak, and who do I stumble upon by Amy Rose, drunk and throwing up behind the dumpster. On her hands and knees. Right behind the dumpster! Haha."

"Who the fuck is Amy Rose? And that doesn't answer my question. You're not answering my question."

"I'm getting to that, Nolan. Jesus, you have the patience of a gnat. One second, you're doing something. The next second, you're not doing it anymore."

"That doesn't make sense."

"So, she doesn't notice me right away, so I stand there and watch her for a bit and I'm watchin' her and I'm thinkin' to myself, right? I'm thinkin'; is that Amy Rose?"

"Could you get your hand out of your pants? Please get your hand out of your pants."

"Oh, right," I say, sniffing my fingers.

"Who is Amy Rose?"

"Sonic's girlfriend. You know Sonic, right?"

"The... hedgehog?"

"Yes, Sonic the hedgehog. Old buddy of mine. We go way back."

"Isn't he the one who arrested you?"

"Yeah. Old, old friends. Anyway, I had about half of a large orange soda left when she got up and started staggering towards me."

"How did you even get in here? I'm sure I deadbolted that fucking door."

"I got in through the window. Anyway, she saw me, so I threw the soda at her face. Straw first, right into the face. It exploded all over her face. Was pretty cool.:

"You threw a drink at her? Why?"

Shrug. "Shrug."

"Please stop saying shrug when you shrug. That's redundancy at its most stupidest. And that doesn't even answer my question."

"What question?"

"What is that? What are you bringing into my house? And why does it smell like urine?"

"Oh, that. That's Amy Rose."

His eyes widen. "Amy Rose?"

"Yeah, I thought I answered that already. I mean, that was the whole point of the story. The story I was just telling, just now. I tied her up with my bootlaces, took a leak, wrapped her up with that blanket there that I found in the dumpster and threw her over my shoulder. Which brings me to my next point; I need to borrow your van."

"Why in god's name would you do something like that? Why the fuck would you bring it into my house?"

"Look, Sonic's loaded. Important and famous and shit. He'll pay oodles for her. I'm cutting you in, see?"

"No. Nonono. Get out of my house and take her with you."

"Oh, Nolan Death. He with such a badass name should have more balls than that. He with such a badass name that has been uttered before a witness, a witness who just witnessed of which name you have so badassly, uh. I forgot where I was going with this. Goddamn flowery language. She heard your name, so you have to do what I say. Or you'll get caught, or something."

"Is she even awake?"

"I dunno," I say, getting up and nudging her with my foot. She doesn't respond. "Doesn't look like it. Anyway, don't you wanna be rich?"

"I, uh. I do okay, no thanks."

"Now, Nolan," I say, resting my hands on the butts of my pistols. "You can either get the keys to your van right now, and you can get into it with me after we haul her into the back of it and fix her up with the awesome new mattress I so generously installed into the back of it today, with a nailgun, or-"

"How did you-"

"With a nailgun."

"-eak into my van?"

"With a nailgun, Nolan. Jesus. Look. I don't have time for this. You can do that, or am I going to have to tie you up with your shoelaces and hotwire it? You can lay in the back with Amy. Maybe she'll share some of my pee."

Nolan sighs. "I'll get the keys."

"Good boy."

* * *

"This looks like a rapevan, now," he says, sighing. "Thanks for the mattress."

"Well, see, I was just talking about kidnapping. Not sure I like where your head is at, but I'll get back to that later."

"I was being sarcastic. Jesus, are you really this insane?"

"Insane is such a strong word," I say, shutting the back door of the van and wagging the gun in his face. "Do me a solid and get into the driver's seat."

March proudly around to the passenger side and open the door.

Sit down and buckle up as he does the same. Because the safetybelt always saves.  
That's blowjobs.

"Start the van," I say.

"I need the keys."

Oh, right. "Oh, right."  
Toss them his way.

"You got a cellphone on you, buddy?"

"No," he says, turning the key and making the engine putter. "Sure don't."

"We gotta find a payphone, then."

"Where am I going?"

"Find a payphone. Jeez. I said that already."

He quietly puts the vehicle in reverse as I curiously stroke the fur on my face.

"Did I ever tell you about my ex wife, Nolan?"

"Um. No."

"She was a peach, ya know? Sweetest thing you ever did see. She did everything for me, to the point where I would have to get onto her for workin' so hard to make me happy. You do enough, just by being you, I'd say. She's always say I couldn't be happy enough. She was a real peach."

Raindrops splashing against the windshield.  
Blurry streetlights passing us by.

"What happened?"

"She got sick on me. She got sick on me and left me behind. I wanted her sickness to be my sickness. I wanted her to be a part of me forever. So, when she passed, I did the only thing I knew to be right."

"What was that?"

"I ate her. I aint much of a cook, but I made it work. Enough ketchup and anything tastes like ketchup, you know? Well, like I said before, Sonic and I go way back. Old, old friends. When he found out about what I were doin', he didn't think it were right. So, he took me in and they declared me insane. But insane is such a strong word, Chuck."

"Nolan," he says. "My name is Nolan."

"I'm just like you and me, I figure," I tell him, sincerely. I mean it. "A bit different, maybe. But I'm just like you and me. I drink the same water. I breathe the same air. I use the same crapper. We may not have eaten the same mammals as one another, but we all consume each other in some way or another, you know? That's not really any different, right?"

"Right," he says. But I'll never know what he really thinks. What's really cookin' inside that noodle of his.  
Nolan and I don't go too far back, but I feel like I can trust him. He seems like a nice guy. I followed him home from a nearby gas station. He didn't like that too much. Come to think of it, he doesn't like a lot of the things I do. I hope that doesn't mean we can't be friends, because I like Nolan.

"Oooo, lookie. A payphone," I say, pointing. "Pull over here."

* * *

"We gotta get out of here," his voice whispers from the back.  
Rustling. She whimpers. He stifles her.

Head splitting apart, mind decaying. My nose is bleeding. I can feel the shards of glass in my throat.

Cough blood into my arm and the noise stops.  
Something doesn't feel right.  
My hat, where is my hat. Open my eyes with some difficulty. It's hard to see in here.

My hat is on the dashboard. I can barely make it out. I reach for it and the back door springs open and footsteps begin fading as I unbuckle my safetybelt and blindly grope for the handle that releases me. With some difficulty, I pry the door open. The bent and smashed exterior of the car noisily grinding against itself.

Tumble out, broken glass sprinkling the pavement alongside me.

Roll over carefully. I think my ankle is fucked.  
Try to get up, Nack.

In the distance, I see their frantic little figures scurrying under a streetlight and disappearing into the darkness.

I guess Nolan didn't like me all that much after all.  
Kinda sad to say, but those two were my best friends.

Ah, well.  
I'll make some more.

* * *

"How many shinies you got?"

"Shinies?"

"Coins, boy. Coins. What'cha got?"

"Oh, well, all my change is in the cupholder, there."

I dig it all out and exit the vehicle with style.

When I deposit the coin into the slot, I finger the dial and turn back to watch my little buddy sitting in the van, patting the keys through the material of my pants.

My name is Nack. I am a weasel.

The phone rings and he answers groggily. "Hello?"

"Yess, is this Sonic the hedgehog?" I ask, masking my voice.

"Speaking," he sighs through the receiver. "What can I do for you?"

"I have your girlfriend," I say, licking my lips. "If you-"

"Yeah, yeah," he says, scoffing. "Who hasn't had my girlfriend? You tell that bitch I know what she's been up to. You tell her that and you tell her she's not welcome in my life anymore, you understand? She's your problem now."

"Wait, I-"

"I don't want to hear it."

*click*

Fuck.  
Drop the phone and leave it dangling from its cord.  
Make my way back through the rain, to the van and get in.

"Drive," I tell him.

"What happened?"

"Amy fucked up our plan by being a whore, that's what happened. Drive."

"Where am I going?"

"I don't care, Nolan, just drive the fucking van, alright?"

He kicks the van into gear and the journey resumes.

Times like these and I want a drink. And I don't even drink.

"Drinking rots your noodle, my wife would always say. Besides, I need to keep a clear head anyway. Gotta formulate a masterplan."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothin'," I say. "Just thinkin' out loud."

My name is Nack. I am a weasel.  
Of this, I am pretty sure. Hell, it's the only thing I can be sure of at all these days.

"Are you okay, Nack?"

"Sure, kid. I'm okay, I reckon. I'm breathing and all. Gotta count for somethin', don't it?"

"Yeah," he says. But I don't think he means it.  
Nolan's hard to read. And by hard to read, I mean he's hard to read. I have a knack for reading people.

"Where you from, kid? Tell me a little bit about yourself."

Rain pelting the roof of the van.  
Calming. Soothing.

"I was raised in a cult," he says.

Snort. "You're funny, kid."

"That wasn't a joke, but okay."

"Did you worship a bald man named Todd?"

"No, we were a Jesus cult. I got kicked out for questioning things."

"They don't take too kindly to questions in cults. That's what I hear."

"They sure don't."

"What do you do for a living, Nolan?"

"I'm a writer," he says.

"A rider? What, like motorcycles? You a part of a biker gang, Nolan? Crank and beer and rape get you off, does it?"

"Nonono. A writer. With a W and a T. I write."

"I was in a biker gang once. We called ourselves the Apple Dumpling Gang. You know why we was called that, Nolan?"

"Shit, I dunno. Was it supposed to be ironic, or something?"

"Shit no. It was so we could get the drop on the fuckers when they was laughin' at us. I'm not above a sucker punch to the tits if it means a victory in the bush. Now, that's blowjobs."

"Nack?"

"Nyess?"

"You were never in a biker gang, were you?"

"Naw. Shit, I reckon I wasn't, huh. Always wanted to, though. Never saw the harm in dreamin', you know?"

"Sure."

"You dream, Nolan?"

"I, uh. I'm pretty sure everybody dreams, Nack."

"I dream. Sometimes that's when I'm at my most happiest. Sometimes that's when I'm at my most fucked up. But I dream, Nolan. I _dream._ It gets to the point where I can't tell if they're more trouble than they're worth."

"There's always lucid dreaming," he says, distantly.

"What's a lucid dreaming?"

"You can train yourself to control yourself and the world around you in your dreams entirely. A universe at your fingertips. Almost like you're god."

"I feel sorry for god," I tell him without thinking. The words just seem to escape my lips.

"Oh yeah?" he asks. "Why's that?"

* * *

*_static_*

* * *

"I knew you'd leave me," I say, forcing myself to my feet. "They always do."

They're gone, now. No sense in chasing them down with my fucked ankle. Hobbling after them, as it were.  
My story is almost over, anyway.

The rain stopped when I was unconscious.  
I don't figure I was out for too long. I don't figure he was out at all.

I consider the score for a moment. Like, what am I supposed to do next.

Probably part of the test.

Back in the asylum, I knew this guy named Vernon. He was my buddy.  
He liked to listen to me talk. He said he didn't agree with me most of the time, but what I had to say was interesting, so he didn't mind that so much.

He was in there for trying to kill himself.  
He had almost done it right. Took a bottle of sleeping pills with his suicide note tucked safely in his pocket. Didn't tell nobody he planned on doing it beforehand. Didn't even indicate that he would ever do something like that.  
The irony is that he tried to do some drinkin' on top of that, to seal his fate, and ended up passing out in a public place where people could find him. They searched him to find out who he was, who to contact and what to do with him, when they stumbled upon the suicide note. Next thing he knows, he's in an insane asylum and he isn't quite sure why.

He would pocket his pills at medication time and build up awhile so he could try again. Didn't matter much to him what he was takin'. Too much of anything will kill you, he'd say.

I always told him he was there to remind me of the test, and how not to fail it. I reckon he didn't never understand what I meant by that. I also reckon that I never clarified, but whatever.

He finally got his wish, but it wasn't by his own hand, and in fact, ironically, after he had finally given up on doin' himself in and snuffin' it.  
He was shanked by another inmate named Darren Ebbs. Something about a demand for chocolate yiffins that was never supplied.

Now, some folks find this sort of thing shocking. I do not. You wanna know what I find shocking? I'll tell ye. I'll tell ye what I find shocking. I find it shocking that folks find this sort of thing shocking at this point.

This is the way the world works. There's a lot of pain and a lot of suffering, and not all that much of it makes a lick of sense. It's just there. Seemingly for no reason.

It can be attributable to Mobian error, I suspect.

The way I've made things in this test for myself.

I don't even know if I'm passing at this point, but that's okay. The point is, at least I tried. I can live with that.

I'm okay, clinging to that, I reckon.  
Okay as I ever was.

* * *

"Hello, my name is Kiki, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to start you off with?"

She's nice. Or so it seems. I know I'll never meet the real person that she is. Just her business representative.

"Coffee," I tell her. "And a nice, juicy steak. Medium rare."

"Any sides with that?"

"Mashed 'tatoes and gravy, please. Mmmm. Biscuits. That'll do me fine, just fine."

"Alright," she says, scribbling my order down on her notepad. I'll be back with your order in just a second."

And it takes her just that to bring me my coffee.  
I suppose I'll leave a tip, for once.

What I was going to say before Nolan so inconsiderately crashed my side of the van into a brick wall, was this;

I know I'm not god. I may have created this artificial, bullshit world around me, but that doesn't make me god. This is a test, and I don't truly control it.

I feel sorry for god. The all-knowing, all-powerful being that exists simply to keep things running. To keep it all moving. I feel sorry for the being that sees it all coming. That truly knows each and every one of us. I feel sorry for the all-knowing, all-loving being for reasons that define themselves.  
It's all bullshit.  
Could you even feel proud of this universe if that's what you knew? Everything about it?

I don't know. Maybe god does exist, and maybe god doesn't exist. Maybe god loves us, but god surely isn't proud of us.

God made all of this possible, and all we want to do is quit, or destroy it. Maybe he knew that would happen. Maybe it's all part of his plan. Maybe he's counting on us to bring the end to it all.

I don't know. I'm not god. She brings me my steak with a smile and I cut into it and take a hugs bite and2 chew it for a second and swallow.  
But I don't swallow.

She's gone and the other patrons look at me with expressions of fear and disgust plastered across their dumb fucking faces.  
Flickering, they're flickering in and out.

I can't breathe. Wad of meat clogging my windpipe. The world around me slowly begins fading away and I think of Vernon. He said that when you're close to death, something happens, but it's not like you would imagine.

They say that when you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes.

Well, this is true.  
This is true, but it probably isn't exactly like what you think it might be like.

Your life flashes before your eyes, but it's all in reverse. It's all backwards. So, at least you finish off with a happy ending.

* * *

(**being born**)


End file.
